


to burn rome down

by nequas



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 15:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14312013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nequas/pseuds/nequas
Summary: there are choices we make and choices that make us.jericho has come for both.





	to burn rome down

**Author's Note:**

> i told myself i'd write for these two months ago. 
> 
> the promise is delivered a little late and the content isn't even that shippy, but oh well.

the paths that lead to the bastion are well-known to jericho swain, but to be forced to take the backstreets to the heart of noxus itself stings a deep place within him, pulls the dark bitterness he's fought to reign in back to the surface of his mind. once the ease that being highborne brought to him was welcomed and while the times in which the standing given by birthright was his sole foundation have long been cast aside by the turn of years it now adds more salt to his festering wounds: he should not have to slither through passages and be snuck inside by old comrades as he is now, but times have changed and his fall left him with much to pick up and pull together, the stump of his forearm prickling with the ghost of sensation, burning with his shame. it left him to muse over his twice disgraced surname: first in the light of his parents’ folly and now in the shape of a dishonorable discharge, ominously regaled through the pale woman’s conniving pull of strings; he barely contains a sneer when reminded of how their emperor sustains himself solely on such nefarious strings, lacking any backbone of his own to stand without their support.

 

it should make it sting less that the man who ushers him inside in secrecy is no one other than the hand himself, but that barely scratches the surface. when he meets darius’s eyes this night, red and impassive, his own burn somber. he has a mission to accomplish and while he's aware the stakes set are high, he will do what he must. he knows his old friend silently disapproves of it, but all lines to cross have already been crossed: this is but damage control. to save yourself from certain plagues, one must burn the flesh to cauterize it before it spreads. the plan he is about to push forward is nothing but an allegory to that: his soul burns so noxus may prosper another day.

 

“i don't really believe this is the right motion to make.” the tone that comes from the man beside him in the dark corridors is not condescending nor angered but concerned. he appreciates the small kindness in this subtlety. adjusting his coat over his shoulders, jericho offers a softened but weary glance towards darius. it is sad that he must appeal to cheap sentimentality, but with what is to be done, he makes himself at ease when pulling at his comrade’s heartstrings.

 

“so i must assume you don't believe me to be doing this for the best for noxus.”

 

the reaction is immediate, the hand casting him him a look that is both defensive and wounded, or as much of both as he'd let show. the honesty of this man, how raw at times he could be — it’d be his downfall. one illogical thought trespasses into his rational mind: if in his power, and it would be in his power soon, he would not let that come to fruition, that ill prophecy towards this one. jericho has tasted enough disgrace this past couple of years for the both of them.

 

“that _isn't_ what i implied, swain.”

 

“forgive me for my defensiveness, but you know how times have been trying,” the former general delivers in a far softer tone, as if seeking to soothe the ache he himself inflicted upon darius’s peace of mind. in the meantime, they dive deeper into the bastion’s belly and darius takes the front to speak to the guards ahead. they seem ready to cast no doubt upon the choice of guest of the hand of noxus himself after the talk and swain finds it humorous, how simple a task becomes with the right man assigned to it. “it'd be most dreadful to lose your trust among all else, old friend.”

 

“i trust _you_. i don’t trust the creature you aim to bargain with.”

 

it seems to do the trick as darius relaxes within the metallic enclosure of his armor, shoulders slouching the smallest of fractions. nothing goes unnoticed to the raven’s eye, however, and he delights in the acquired knowledge. so true, this one. he had learned to read him out of the safe assumption his heart was wild but tameable given the right stimuli. a dry smile, shadowed by the poor lighting of the night, graces his thin lips. another small battle won means perhaps his skills as a strategist have not departed him as whole despite the disgrace of the placidium, this dance easy but delicate all the same. he speaks once more and albeit his voice makes him sound pleasantly malleable, his resolve holds the likeliness of the finest and most durable steel.

 

“all i ask for is that you trust me more than you trust its ill intentions, darius.”

 

“—you know where my faith lays and it is not in the odds.”

 

that _almost_ takes jericho aback, but as trained in the art of acting as he is, what with the years of training within the high command, the reaction is aborted halfway, only a hint of it showing in the light of his eyes. it'd never cease to impress him, how this man could at times make raw and honest a strength, not a liability. it justifies his position, this latent talent, and the reason why he remains such a close ally, perhaps one of the few men he'd dare and be honored to call friend. a simple but meaningful glance exchanged between them, the rest of the travel is spent mostly in silence, the only disruptions being the sound of their footsteps and the song of metal against metal, one commonly done by the hand’s armor. it is comfortable silence and that much he knows how to appreciate.

 

it's strange, how he hardly bothers with nerves. one could call this silence an efficient soother, but nonetheless facing an ancient creature should feel more daunting, even to a man as jaded as himself, and yet-— yet he feels at ease, as if this has been his calling all along. the visions, the foreboding brought by a murder of crows in the eye of his mind, in the bloodied and battered battlefields of ionia; its first culmination is here, between these ancient stone walls.

 

as they reach the most deserted part of the immortal bastion, deep into its guts where few living things dare to linger, the pair halts to a stop. it feels as ominous as imagined, but neither are particularly susceptible to the call of fear. turning his attentions to the man by his side, he starts: “if you so wish to go now—" he trails off, but his message is clear enough, clear enough that darius seems to silently fight the impulse of protesting or of at very least heaving a sigh. “i will see myself out after i finish this.”

 

“i will be outside.”

 

“i’d much rather you leave, darius.” he keeps to a veneer of amiability in his tone, but there's a lining of ice just below that surface. that in itself is enough to draw a sigh of annoyance from his companion's lungs. they have known each other well enough by now to be aware how each of them fares, so it is not surprise that moves the gesture but predictability. in other circumstances, the notion would be vexing to the older man. right then he sees it unfit to focus on such petty details. 

 

“do you take me for a child to need being spared of the gore of your affairs?” the bite is discreet but present. swain knows by that alone that he's taken offense. eye contact sustained, neither give much ground, the nearly conciliatory tone the older of the two employs more a tool for him to achieve his desired outcome.

 

“i’d never insult you that way, my friend, but this is something i must do _alone_.” his eyes linger on the taller man, in a way reminiscent of the unspoken request. a second, two passes by, and finally darius seems to relent as he recognizes, deep down, this is not a battle he can fight. his gaze lingers a little longer before he turns to take his leave. something has him halt midway and his mouth opens, but no sound comes out. jericho watches, curiosity reserved but present in the hazel of his eyes.

 

before he can try to usher the words out of his taciturn company, he himself shakes his head and beats him to it. “don’t let a beast manage what ionia did not, jericho. _don’t let it kill you._ ” it’s half an order, given the way he enunciates his words, and that makes swain almost let out a quiet laugh; he would have, had the circumstances not been so dire. a weary part of him thanks the wolf that someone still manages to affect him this much, another thanks that somehow the cause seems less and less like a liability. they both are aware the thing that lies beneath and within and beyond the bastion is far more than mere beast, but he will take the strange incentive as it is.

 

“rest assured i don’t plan to give this satisfaction to boram.”

 

the hand scoffs, the sound echoing louder than the whisper it was through the empty hallways, and turns to leave, finally. swain knows this is about duty, this is about something beyond and above them both, that the ultimate purpose of surviving this trial is to start cleansing noxus of its corruption, to give way to another stage of his plans. but right then, living through this means proving a point, not only to darius but to himself.

 

if he succeeds taming a demon, no man would be too great of an obstacle. not _feeble darkwill_ , not even with his pale sorceress by his side.

  
“ _you better not_ ,” are darius’s parting words and jericho has no mind to make that untrue.


End file.
